Reprieve
by whatsyourpathology
Summary: Six years being taken prisoner in Afghanistan, Matthew returns home and tries to rebuild his life. Mary is married to Henry and must now make the hardest choice of her life. Sequel to Hot Cereal/Hot Soup. Modern AU.
1. Difficult Things

**Author's Note:** What a warm welcome back. I suppose I should explain my absence, I've been trying to work on something original the last little while. I'm kinda having some writer's block with that project so as always I like to return to Mary and Matthew. I can't say when I will update but I haven't given up on Stars and Lights or The Collected Letters but right now I'm feeling Hot Soup. So this story is a sequel to the events of that story. Feel free to reread those chapters as a refresher plotwise. This is going to have a more slice of life feel to it, the stories arcs will necessarily feel less focused and will drift in and out. I will try to update regularly but not at a breakneck pace that I used to. That said, I have no idea where this is going beyond the first few stories I have planned. Hope you guys enjoy.

 **Prologue: Difficult Things**

She looked at herself in the mirror of his bathroom. The harsh florescent lights above the mirror did not paint a flattering picture of her. But what was she to do? Matthew had no mirror in his foyer. But it wasn't just the light. She had been crying and shouting and… cumming all night long. She was exhausted and numb.

Mary ran her fingers through her hair and tried to loosen the knots that had formed. She remembered the way his fingers had tightened around them and forced her head down, as remembered drowning into him. She had given herself to him that night, utterly and completely. And in return, she brought him back. She had brought him back from the brink of permanent despair.

She wiped the lipstick from her cheeks and cleaned her face of the smudged eyeliner. Her thumb removed the few droplets of excess cum on her lips from earlier in the night when he had branded her to be his once again. Nothing ever felt so right.

She could still feel the heat of his skin, the crevices of his war torn body, hardened by battle, exhausted by loneliness. She was his loneliness. But she didn't want to be anymore. She wanted to be his happiness. Because in the end, he had always been her happiness.

She had always been a kind of a fuck up. She was just good at covering her tracks, tricking people into thinking that she had it all put together, that she had control of her life. That was a lie. That was a lie she had been living for so long that she almost believed it. The truth was the only things she ever did, she did out of pure emotion, or in some misguided attempt to avoid it. Her pain fueled her but it also consumed her.

It was hopeless. Matthew had nothing but shampoo and soap. Not even conditioner. There was no way to hide the fact that she had been freshly fucked. If Henry was a keen observer, and in her experience, he was, he would immediately notice the redness on her elbows and knees, the puffy eyes of a woman crying, but mostly the ineffable but entirely unmistakable glow of her sexual energy. He loved that about her. It would crush him to know that Matthew did this to her. The ultimate betrayal of the worst kind. What she had done to Matthew, she was going to do to Henry. How many men has she destroyed in her wake? She only ever came back for one of them. He was downstairs waiting.

But she had to face Henry, one last time, to tell him the truth. He deserved that much. However much it was going to hurt him. However much it was going to her hurt her. Some things in life were difficult and avoidable. She had spent her entire life avoiding such things. And look where it had gotten her.

She turned off the light as she left the bathroom, hopefully looking a little more presentable. Matthew greeted her downstairs with a consoling smile. She was off to do battle with her own sins. Silently, he wished her luck, helped her put her coat of mail (her wool jacket), her gauntlets (her leather gloves), and her sabatons (her heels). She turned to him and looked deep into his endless blue eyes.

"You know I'm coming back right?" she whispered. Her voice was nearly gone from the night's passion.

He nodded, almost convincingly.

"This isn't goodbye," she insisted. "This is where we begin."

"I know," he lied. She knew that. He was protecting himself, it was understandable. How many times had she abandoned him before. How many times had she driven that stake through his heart? Now she asks for him to present it again, promising mercy, tenderness. It wasn't cowardice, it wa self-preservation.

She reached up and pulled him in for a kiss. Long and passionate, a kiss with meaning and intent. He could feel her tears touch his cheeks, he could feel her trembling breath upon his lips. She was trying. A temporary salve until the real healing could begin.

"I've hurt so many people…" Mary said, her voice on the edge of breaking. "I don't want to hurt anyone anymore…"

"You don't have to do this," Matthew said tenderly. "I will tell him."

Mary's furrowed her brow affectionately. "You can't shield me from everything, Matthew. Try as you might. Especially from my own decisions."

He let her go. Putting what little faith and love he had left in him into her hands once again. She had the power to crush him, to break him. But then again, she always did.

* * *

Al Maalim as he was known was a gentle man. But of course commanders could afford to seem gentle and reasonable. That was their right for having committed horrors in their past. The butchery of torture was left to his underlings. For he was once such an underling.

He had taken a liking to Matthew, something about his refined English accent drew the elderly Mujahideen's attention. He had many prisoners but most of them were locals, defenseless women and children of local tribal chiefs, used for the sexual pleasures of his men or for purposes of ransom. Matthew was once up for ransom but Aegis took the American stance of not negotiating with the Taliban so for the first 18 months of his captivity he was used for live combat training for young recruits. During these 18 months he lost a tooth, fractured several ribs, had his right leg broken, and was stabbed several times.

It was his resiliency that first garnered the attention of Al Maalim. The Westerns, particularly the English, with their reputation for manners and taste for gentler things belied Matthew's resolve. They knew to fear the SAS and the SRR, but Matthew was neither. He wasn't even a soldier, just a contractor for a private security company, tough and fearsome with the latest weapons and technology but easily broken once cornered and alone. Or so they thought, until he survived three days of bleeding from a knife wound to his left side.

Al Maalim patched him up and forbade any more contact between Matthew and anyone who was Al Maalim or his most trusted guards. The man was evidently bored and needed someone to talk to, between now and Yawn ad-Din was a long time and the forests and hills of Afghanistan, while beautiful could only offer so much amusement.

He was sadistic, though rarely violent. He enjoyed the suffering of others and found joy in turning a blind eye to the crimes being committed by the men underneath him. The screams and torture of men being beaten and women being raped seemed to have no effect on him. Matthew often wondered if he even heard them. He enjoyed torturing Matthew as well but in more artful ways.

"I had a dream last night," Al Maalim said in his heavily accented but nevertheless well spoken English.

Matthew didn't answer. He never engaged the man unless asked a direct question and even then, only in the most curt way possible.

"You are a paradox, Matthew Crawley," Al Maalim said as he pointed his finger at Matthew. "Yes? That is how you say it?"

Matthew did not answer. That wasn't a real question.

"You act as though you are unafraid of death, my men have beaten and stabbed you to the brink of death, several times," Al Maalim said. "You never beg. You never ask for mercy."

He took a sip of his tea and poured some for Matthew.

"That's normal," Al Maalim remarked. "Men die with honor everyday. It's no secret. We all have that which we are willing to die for. But what's curious about you is that you keep living. You refuse to die. But you refuse to live. Explain this to me."

"You just haven't tried hard enough," Matthew answered dryly.

There was a moment's pause before Al Maalim bursted into a hearty laugh. "You, you know my pattern. You know that I enjoy your wit. And you are witty. But tell me, what keeps you going?"

"One day I will see you dead, that's what keeps me going," Matthew replied.

"Hmm, don't do that," Al Maalim said as he put down his tea. "The threats, they do not suit you. I understand you feel a duty, perhaps a… a… moral obligation? Yes? To defy me constantly. I understand, I am your enemy. I take no offense, this is a war after all. But wars are fought for something. Do you still fight for something? Or do you just hate to lose?"

Matthew didn't answer.

"You know your silence tells me more than your words do," Al Maalim said. "I know that my guards torture you with such thoughts and it is clear that they have taken hold. Crude as they are, they are effective. You know why? Because they most likely true. You are a forgotten man, Matthew Crawley. Your wife will probably remarry, if she hasn't already. Your children, if you have any, will one day forget you. As will the world. It is not such a sad thing. We all come from Allah and we all go back to him. Understand this and you can truly be free. The western world seduces you with women and money and materialism. It is a difficult thing… letting go. But what we have out here is much more pure. My guards… they torture you with such words. I… I come to comfort you."

"You know nothing of my life," Matthew replied seethingly.

"Fine, maybe I'm wrong, maybe you have some great love that will hope against hope, but I suspect not…" Al Maalim said as he took another sip of his tea.

What Matthew hated most and what haunted him for years to come was that in the end, Al Maalim was right. And even as Mary closed the door behind her, to end things with Henry, he still believed it. He still believed those words.

* * *

He lay there on his couch, staring up at the ceiling for hours on end. He couldn't sleep. He was too anxious and even as he resigned himself to the idea that Henry had convinced Mary to stay with him, he still could not bring himself to drag himself up to the bedroom and admit that he had lost the war. Perhaps, he was starting to believe again.

At exactly 5:02 in the morning he heard the door click. He immediately sat up. It was Mary. She stood there silently just looking at him for a moment. She had been crying. Again. Her expression was steady but it was breaking and he could feel it. And before the first tear rolled down her cheek Matthew leapt up and rushed to her, catching her just as her knees gave out from underneath her.

Her hands gripped the collar of his shirt. She buried her face into his chest. The silent quake of her breathing, the intense grip of her hands, the moisture of her tears, he could feel it all. She had done it. She had done that difficult thing, that most dreadful thing. She told Henry what she had done with Matthew and what that meant. She must've have broke him, and in turn, broke herself.

She kicked off her shoes as they sat there for a few minutes. His back against the front door, her hands hanging onto him for dear life. His heart ached for her. It broke him to see her in so much pain. But he knew suffering and knew that nothing fixes that pain but time, not even him. So he held her, it was as much as he could do in that moment. It was all she needed.

She reached for words but found only whispers. "Never let me go."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. His hands placed firmly on her back, feeling the syncopated rhythm of her breathing.

He kissed the top of her head. "I promise."


	2. Starting Over

**Author's Note:** At the risk of this turning to this into a complicated comic book continuity. This chapter takes place immediately after the epilogue of Hot Soup.

 **Starting Over**

They had sex, quietly. As they had learned to do after waking up George once. As they had done for the previous five mornings and nights and even in the afternoons when George took his nap. Afterwards, they had briefly discussed their plans for the day and their life. Nothing concrete, nothing detailed, they were both worried about putting undue burden on the other.

Mary feared that after six years in exile thrusting Matthews back into public life, a life that she had inherited by dint of her birth and upbringing, one that he had once, tangentially shared in, was far too much pressure for the man, whom she knew was still suffering the effects of a lingering PTSD. It has never brought him any joy, at best he thought nothing of it and tolerated the notoriety for her sake, at worst it caused him to withdraw inward. But she could not afford that right now, she could not allow him to turn inward towards the misery that still festered beneath the surface. She was determined to drag him back to the real world. Just one step at a time.

Matthew feared that if they began to make plans that Mary would feel trapped. She had rushed into this so furiously and intensely that he wondered if she really meant the things she said on that fateful night. He wondered if her passion was just that, an all consuming flame that would leave her empty and regretful in the end. His was not a glamorous existence, even less so than before he left for war. There was much that he hadn't shared with Mary yet. His need to keep a tight schedule, his almost obsessive compulsive need to know exactly what time it was during the day, all these habits he had developed as a way of keeping him sane. He wasn't sure if Mary was ready for that yet.

She checked the time on her phone before letting out a deep sigh and curling up back into Matthew's arms.

"What's the matter?" Matthew asked.

"Nothing… I'm just never going to make it to yoga now," Mary explained.

"Sorry for keeping you."

"No, you're not," Mary giggled slightly as she gently slapped his chest.

"No, I suppose I'm not," Matthews admitted. "But perhaps I shouldn't encouraging such slothful behaviour."

"Quite right, especially if you want me to keep doing those things I did to you last night," Mary said as she turned to face him.

"Oh, I have yoga to thank for that do I?"

"Oh, you have yoga to thank for any number of things I can do and still do at my age."

"You make yourself sound ancient."

"Matthew, I feel ancient."

"I have to disagree," Matthew said as his fingertips danced upon her hips.

"You can disagree all you like," Mary said as her words drifted into a soft whisper. She pulled herself up to him and kissed him, long and with so much longing. He was hers once again, finally. And yet somehow knowing this did nothing to diminish her desire. But she knew that real life was waiting and they had decided together that this was the day they would reenter the world. "But that's okay to have to wait until tonight. I'm going to try I'm make the 11:30 class."

"Are you ready for this?" Matthew replied.

"Matthew…" She knew what he meant. It had always been her greatest strength yet it was also what gave her the most anxiety. The public dimension of her life, for a time, for six years, it was all she had. "Have a little faith… I'm stronger than I look."

* * *

Their first day back out in the world was a momentous occasion for both Mary and Mathew, but it was far more daunting for Mary. For Matthew, it just meant getting back onto his regular schedule and taking on a few more responsibilities than he would otherwise had. And while the public dimension of their newly rekindled relationship would no doubt in time, engulf him too, for now he had noone to face up to and all the time in the world to hang out with George.

He took him on his morning jog which George was more than happy to participate in. The boy had always looked upon his father as a titan among men. He thoroughly enjoyed pretending to be an airplane while Matthew securely flung him around their living room. And he loved riding upon his father's back and shoulders and requested it whenever he got the chance. Matthew was more than willing to oblige. George had only ever known his father as this man of extreme discipline and natural strength and on some level it made Matthew extremely proud. He had not been known for his physical prowess in his youth. While he was not a schlub by any stretch, he was undoubtedly a softer man prior to his time in captivity.

They necessarily took a longer time than Matthew would have normally taken for his morning jog, but he was having so much fun playing with his son that he barely even noticed. There was something quietly brilliant about knowing that he had all day to spend with George. Unrestrained by the hours and minutes of their previous encounters, he felt freer, found himself rarely checking his watch at all. He had time to learn the little things about George, the particular way his fingers moved when he tied his shoes, the brilliant way his face would light up when he smiled, the way the wind caught his hair.

"Are you getting tired?" Matthew asked as he kept pace with the boy. "We can turn back and go home whenever you want."

George merely shook his head defiantly and pressed on despite his obvious fatigue.

"Alright, alright, well I'm getting tired," Matthew said as he came to a stop. "Papa needs a rest. Adults, unfortunately, do not have your infinite supply of energy."

As if reinvigorated by Matthew's capitulation, George raised his hands up in victory and began frantically jumping up and down. "Mama said that you were fit."

"Mama may have exaggerated a bit," Matthew said pantomiming breathlessness.

Matthew took a drink from his bottle of water and then took a juice box out of his pocket and prepared it for George.

"You're a hard man to find," an unfamiliar voice called out from behind Matthew.

Matthew immediately spun around to look at who it was. He didn't recognize him but somehow he had a sense of what this was about. This wasn't the first time this had happened. The man wore a black suit with a beige trenchcoat. He had a few streaks of grey in his otherwise dark hair. His smiley was friendly but of course all of them were.

Matthew immediately looked around for others. They had made it all the way to the Wellington Memorial.

"No need for that," the man said. "Although I see you still have the instincts. Precisely what we are looking for."

"I'm with my son," Matthew said quietly.

"Yes and congratulations, we've heard the good news."

It took Matthew a moment. "Well I suppose that the spy business and the gossip business aren't so different in the end."

"Sharp as ever, which is why we keep coming back to you, that and your grasp of Pashto and your extended acquaintance with Al Maalim," the man said. "We're not asking for anything drastic. We're just looking for a legal liaison for some at risk youth in danger of radicalization."

"With all due respect sir, that part of my life is over and I'd rather not revisit it if I can help it."

"Then I'll put it like this, your country needs you."

Matthew chuckled. "You think you're the first recruiter that's tried that one on me? I've served my country, I've given up more than enough."

The man backed off for a moment and let a silence settle in between them. They weren't enemies, they didn't even know each other. But somehow, he felt like he knew Matthew and Matthew instinctively knew where he was coming from. They had seen and lived the other side of the world and as much as they try and integrate back into the societies of their birth, something about them had changed. For both of them, the well tailored suits and the expensive track pants and fancy workout t-shirt with the elastane weave felt like a mere pretty layer of paint over their true selves.

"I have a life now…" Matthew said in a more conciliatory tone. "I have a job... a real job. I'm trying to make something of this…"

"Of course I understand…" the man said. "We're not trying to upend your life, even if that's how you choose to perceive it. I hope you find meaning in this life... not many of us who return do."

* * *

Mary had arrived at the yoga studio just in the for the 11:30 class. The space was just as she remembered it and yet somehow it felt so unfamiliar, as if she was returning to a dream after the last few days of intense reality. This was a fiction that she had built for herself over the last six years that she now had to continue living. The truth was that nothing about her life was incompatible with her new situation, yet it still somehow felt unreal.

The class was uneventful and rather serene all things considered. She was a little sore but in a good way. But unlike previous years the holidays hadn't fattened her up the way the usual string of dinners and parties used to. She had eaten simply, cooked healthily, and enjoyed endless intense physical activity this year. It felt quite novel, if she had to assign a word to the sensation.

The dream slowly started to fall away when she began to hear the whispers. It was during the Bow Pose that she could see them looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She knew exactly who they were. Not everyone in the class came from Mary's social circle but quite a few of them did. Some of them, she knew through the rumor mill, Matthews had fucked over the last several months. Suddenly, she was filled with anxiety, anger, shame, and jealousy. But the moment passed and she let it all go. She knew this would happen, she had anticipated the gossip and more importantly the jealousy. She had just done the most heart wrenching thing in her life when she told Henry that she had cheated on him and that she wanted a divorce. She knew there would be repercussions. But this oncoming public shaming was made all the more bearable knowing that at the end of the day she could return home, to the safest place in existence, Matthew's arms.

She did wonder however, how he would deal with this. Matthews had always thought the opinion of the upper classes of London society a little frivolous and quite humorous, but she wondered if he could handle the sly jokes, half heard, the giggles and knowing looks at her expense. He had always put her honour above his own. In the end, she was just glad he wasn't hear to witness the first (and so far very minor) of her humiliations.

* * *

Mary arrived back at Matthew's place to the smell of baked salmon. She could hear him opening up the oven from the foyer. George's beautiful voice babbled on indecipherablely as Matthew no doubt paid attention and listened to the boy's musings. Mary had always tried to engage George, push back on his childish ideas, especially now that he was growing older, to try to make him think more critically. But Matthew had missed those years and was just happy to listen to his voice.

She made her way into the kitchen and was greeted by the most beautiful thing she had ever seen; George sitting patiently on the bar stool with an empty plate while Matthew prepared the salmon to serve to him. Is this what she wanted all along? Had she been dreaming of this for six long years?

"What are you two rascals up to?" Mary asked as she dropped her purse onto the stool next to George.

"George got hungry after our afternoon at the park," Matthew explained. "I know we made plans for dinner."

"Oh, that's alright," Mary said as she enthusiastically took off her coat. "Dinner with my two favourite men. I can't think of anything better."

"How was your day?" Matthew asked as he set up a plate for her.

"A little too real," Mary answered.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh it's nothing really, I'll get used to it again," Mary said. "How was your day?"

"Strange…" Matthew answered.

"Tell me about it," Mary said.

"Of course," Matthew said as he served up the salmon. "But first, we eat."


	3. First Dates

**First Dates**

"Who's the daddy? Designer, heiress, developer, and former fashion model, Mary Crawley caught between two men... Oh come on that one is not even accurate," Mary said as she slouched over the laptop.

"Oh my!" Matthews affected as he took a sip of his tea. "I hope it's me!"

"Matthew, that's not funny," Mary said as he glared at him from across the table.

"Why do you need this stuff? It clearly upsets you," Matthew said.

"You need to know what people are saying about you, so you're not caught unaware, it's good strategy," Mary said as she slammed shut her laptop and stood up.

"Master tactician, that's what they forgot to stick in front of your name," Matthew said.

Mary rolled her eyes and she put on her earrings. The rumours had been brewing for days and now it was on the front cover of every gossip rag that mattered, and even some that didn't. It was inevitable and beyond that she had been expecting it, she had been preparing for it. There were protocols and procedures for situations like this. Nevertheless, it still stung a little to read those words.

She was no stranger to the tabloids. There had always been a public dimension to her existence. Such was the price of her ambition and she accepted that. She could've spent her adulthood in obscurity if she wanted to. Her family had money, barring the incident with her father's faulty investments that lead Matthew into the pits of hell, and she could've done anything she wanted to with her life. But she wanted to be great, she wanted to make her own way in the world. There was a part of her that was embarrassed of her aristocratic blood. Of course in no way that showed, but she always felt a sense of insecurity about it. She often wondered how much of her great fortune, her magnificent life, was truly hers and not just the gift of one of her long dead ancestors. Could she have achieved all that she had in life without her advantaged start?

And of course there was the guilt. Part of why she had so much was because of Matthew. He had risked his life and nearly lost it for her sake. When they first met back in when they were twelve, she didn't think of much of him. Back then he was a scrawny little fellow, awkward and shy, polite to a fault. He was just another distant cousin of hers that she would occasionally see once or twice a year. His transformation into the man he was today was slow, almost to the point of being completely unnoticeable.

It wasn't until her father, Lord Grantham, had a minor stroke when she was 16 that they realized that Matthew's branch of the family had some money coming to them through the Crawley Trust, that she really started to take notice of the man. Apparently her grandfather and Matthew's grandfather had served in World War II together. And having gone through that harrowing experience together, the two men formed a tight friendship, much closer than their distant blood relations would have suggested. Matthew's grandfather was too stubborn and honourable to take money from his dear friend and cousin. But Mary's grandfather, feeling a sense of familial duty, set up a trust fund for his offspring. And Lord Grantham, being the honourable man that he was, upon discovering this information, welcomed Matthew and his mother Isobel into the fold.

Thus their lives became inextricably intertwined. Matthew and his mother became regular fixtures at their family dinners and parties. And while Matthew had grown out of his awkward phase, Mary always had her pick of boys around and could afford to ignore Matthew. Thinking back on it now, she wondered how she could've been so blind? But follies of youth prevented her from seeing him clearly. And she had made plenty of mistakes as a reckless teenager.

* * *

 _Thirteen years ago…_

Her heart was pounding so fast that it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. She was trapped and utterly out of moves. She had never been here before. She had never been so out of control. She knew no one in this club and what was worse, she was underage, for another month at least. There were two girls in there with her, high out of their minds. She knew they would be of no help and would possibly make the situation worse. But there was a man waiting for her just of the lavatory, a man named Kemal Pamuk.

He had forced himself onto her on the dance floor. He tried to slide his hands underneath her dress. When she tried to shove his hands away he only became more forceful. Not wanting to cause a scene and possibly incur more of his wrath, she played along for a little while until she found a visible gap in the throng of bodies that cluttered the dancefloor. She ran as soon as she could. But she wasn't fast in heels and she knew that he would eventually catch her. So she stashed herself away in a stall.

She had met Pamuk just a couple of days ago at a gathering of her friends. He said he was the son of a Turkish diplomat. He was polite, funny, and charming, but of course, that's what you would expect out of an international playboy like him. Mary knew plenty of them, many of them were at that party. They seemed to hit it off, they discussed in their hyperbolic teenage way the state of the world, politics, fashion, music, and love.

Had he not forced himself onto her, she might've liked him and taken him to bed anyways.

But now she was scared, disgusted, and angry. But mostly sared. She had already called her friends in London, there was no answer, typical. They were always around to go out and dance and drink and get high, but when she really needed them, they were nowhere to be found. She couldn't call her parents, she would never hear the end of it, she was supposed to be spending the summer in London absorbing the culture of the city, not going out late into the evening and sneaking into clubs and bars. She couldn't call Edith, her sister would rat her out in a heartbeat. Sybil couldn't help, she was too young and she was still at home at Downton. Aunt Rosamund might come to her rescue, but she would have to tell Robert and Cora. She couldn't blame her aunt for that, she was an adult, she had to do the right thing. Mary left a message but she knew that her aunt wouldn't be awake at this hour. She needed someone right now. As she frantically clicked through her phone's address book, she noticed Matthew's name. She had already scrolled by it twice.

Her cousin Matthew was a goody two shoes bookworm. She was sure that he would judge her harshly for her reckless party girl antics. But still, he was in London and he was a teenager, or rather close to it and she was sure if she begged enough, he would cover for her. It was worth a try.

"Hello?" That soothing tenor voice came through her phone.

She breathed a giant sigh of relief.

"Matthew?" Mary said quietly, her voice shaking.

There was a few moments of silence. "Mary?"

"Matthew, I need your help."

A few more moments of silence. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no, but there's this-"

"Where are you?" He sounded more serious than she had expected.

"Heaven, I'm in the girl's-"

"Alright, stay where you are," Matthew said. "I'm coming to get you."

Mary collapsed onto the toilet seat and let out breathed out slowly. She felt a peace descend upon her. Her anxiety, that oncoming panic, that sense of doom, slowly started to fade. It took him less than 15 minutes to get there. Matthew texted her to come out once he had arrived. They met just outside. Their eyes met and for some reason she was expecting scorn, but all she saw was concern. She lunged forward and hugged him tightly.

"Thank god you're here," she whispered.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked as he held her.

She nodded as they broke their hug.

"That's the guy?" Matthew said as he nudged his head in the direction of Pamuk, who was not so subtly staring at them.

She nodded again. "It's fine, Matthew, let's just forget about it. Can we go?"

"Yes, of course," Matthew said as he placed his hand on her waist.

They made their way through the crowds and eventually found the exit. Matthew grabbed his blazer from the coat check and placed it around Mary's shoulders. It wasn't a cold night but she was shivering. It was obvious why. Matthew didn't say anything.

"I have to use the men's room myself," Matthew said abruptly. "Could you wait for me here for a few minutes?"

"Yes, of course," Mary answered, despite wanting to say no.

Matthew disappeared back into the club for several minutes. Half of her wished that he actually was just going to the men's room and that would be it. It certainly seemed more like the Matthew that she knew. But of course, she didn't really know Matthew all that well. The other half of her wondered if he was doing something galant, perhaps shoving Pamuk against the wall and threatening him with some very severe words. She wondered if Matthew was even capable of such a thing.

When reemerged, Matthew grabbed her by the hand and said, "Let's go."

They scurried off into the night leaving Mary to wonder what just happened.

The taxi ride back to Grantham House was silent but comforting. Once in awhile Mary dared to turn her head and look at Matthew. A few times, he caught her staring and just flashed a friendly smile back. She was embarrassed and she was pretty sure that Matthew knew that. But he didn't tease her about it. He was more than understanding, kind almost to the point of obnoxiousness. But she couldn't hate him for it. He really came through for her.

She couldn't explain it then but Mary saw something new in Matthew that night. Something different and unknown, hidden depths, revealed themselves to her, probably unbeknownst to Matthew himself. There was no way anyone was that polite. That good. It just didn't seem possible.

"How are you feeling?" Matthew asked.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," Mary blushed.

Matthew merely smiled back.

"I'm sorry for keeping you up so late," Mary said.

"That's fine, I was preparing for an exam when you called, you really didn't wake me."

"It's the summer…"

"I'm taking an online Introductory Latin course, hoping to graduate early," Matthew said.

"Oh my god, you are so obnoxious, do you know that?"

"How so?"

"You're such an overachiever, you know what I hear at the dinner table all the time? Why can't you be more like Cousin Matthew?" Mary poorly mimicked her mother's American accent.

"I'm sorry to cause you trouble," Matthew said trying to hide his grin.

"No, you're not, you're loving it," Mary said. "And don't pretend you don't know this, my parents adore you."

"Lord and Lady Grantham are very kind."

"Oh god… don't call them that," Mary said as she rolled her eyes.

"Okay," Matthew said, no longer hiding his smile.

"What?" Mary asked giving him a suspicious look.

"Now, I know you're okay," Matthew said.

"And why is that?"

"Because you're needling me," Matthew said. "That's your favorite mode of conversation."

Mary blushed and sank back into her seat. "Don't flatter yourself. You don't even cross my mind when you're not around."

"I don't doubt that," Matthew said as he turned to look forward at the road ahead, still sporting his satisfied grin.

They sat in silence a while longer before Mary spoke again. "Thank you again for coming."

"Don't mention it, everyone needs that friend," Matthew said.

"What friend?" Mary asked.

"The one that bails them out of trouble."

"And are you always that friend?" Mary asked.

"Someone has to be responsible, even if it's not the most glamorous job in the world."

"You know what all work and no play did for Jack," Mary teased.

"You think I'm a dull boy and you might be right," Matthew said.

"I used to think that…"

"But now?"

"Now, I'm not so sure. What were you really doing when you went back inside?"

Matthew turned to look at Mary, returning her mischievous grin with one of his own. That was a new look she had never seen before. It excited her. "Just what I said."

"I don't believe you," Mary said with a chuckle.

They may have had a moment, they may not have. Perhaps it was just Mary's inebriation that conjured up the feeling. Perhaps their whole courtship began with her just misreading Matthew's manners. She prodded him and in return, he did the same. Perhaps he was just being a good sport. But for Mary, it was the first time she truly got a glimpse of Matthew Crawley. That enigmatic bookworm, with a hint of danger beneath those blue eyes that he insisted wasn't there.

They had pulled up next to Grantham House with Mary's aunt Rosamund waiting by the curb. As soon as the cab came to a stop, she opened the door and grabbed Mary by the arm. Chastisement and punishment awaited, Mary rolled her eyes as she said goodbye to Matthew. He wished her good luck.

* * *

They stepped out of the house together with George in front of them. If they were going to do this they were going to do it as a family, the family that they had created so many years ago. Mary could already spot several paparazzi snapping pictures of them on their front porch. It wasn't going to be easy. But she had Matthew again. And she wasn't going to let a few nasty headlines a couple of scandalous pictures scare her off. That girl was gone.

"Here, take the car," Mary said as she placed her car keys in Matthew's hands. "Get George to school on time please."

Matthew looked at her a little confused.

"Go kickass today," Mary said as she straightened his tie and fixed his lapel.

"What about you?" Matthew asked.

"I'll get Anna to pick me up," Mary answered.

"Are you worried about them?" Matthew asked as he pointed at the paparazzi not so subtly hiding behind the cars several feet away.

Mary rolled her eyes and grabbed Matthew by the back of the head and pulled him in for a long passionate kiss. Long enough for the photographers to take as many pictures as they liked. She wasn't hiding him anymore. She loved him and the world was just going to have to get used to it.

Breathless and a little stunned Matthew barely managed to say, "Well I guess that answers my question."

"Dinner tonight," Mary said. "For real this time and then you're taking me dancing."


End file.
